
Every other fly rod was on the vertical rack. Sage, Orvis, Winston: all the names I knew and aspired to collect. But this rod was hung up horizontally. It was a bright amber with deep red wraps. The most striking aspect of the rod was that it was shorter than all the other fly rods in the shop. Moreover, it was shorter than any spinning rod I had seen.
“Ed Shenk makes those. Calls them ‘Fleas’.” The older gentleman behind the counter inserted, perceiving I was trying to figure out what I was looking at. “You’ve really got to know your stuff to cast those little rods.”
At the time, I had just started fly fishing. Among a number of other character flaws common to teenagers, I didn’t have an appreciation for small streams. Or small fly rods. Or, for that matter, Ed Shenk. Within a few years, each of those deficiencies would be remedied. First, I stumbled upon mountain creeks filled with bright brook trout. Then, I acquired a seven-foot 3-weight to chase them. Finally, I began to read about the anglers of Pennsylvania’s Cumberland Valley.









